The Biker Boys
by MidnightBeast1098
Summary: Stiles Stilinski is new to biking. But someone who isn't is the notorious 'rogue' Derek Hale. Stiles is curious about Derek, so goes to see what he's about. What he discovers isn't exactly what he expects... (AU, DH/SS)
1. Chapter 1

**S'up peeps? Well, I don't actually know what this is, I don't know what's gonna happen, I just had a picture and this story came into my mind. Hope you enjoy! Any feedback would be great (as always!) and I will _try _and update every Saturday, but so far my track record is pretty dang awful. Anyway. Here ye are!**

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The pungent smell of fumes filled Stiles' nostrils, and he spluttered, leaning over the handlebars. He pulled over at a lay-by and wiped the petrol from the tyres. A car was apparently leaking somewhere, and Stiles was half-expecting to look down the long road and see a vehicle on fire.

Adjusting the too-large helmet, Stiles remounted the bike and kicked off, wobbling a bit as he drove down the road.

New to motorcycling, Stiles had only just discovered the diner at the end of the town where, apparently, loads of bikers went, including his best friend Scott. Sure, he'd driven past it loads of times in the Jeep, but it looked a bit dodgy and he approached the entrance with a hint of trepidation. Thankfully, Scott's bike was already parked outside; at least Stiles wouldn't be alone.

The door creaked loudly as Stiles pushed and the men inside turned to stare at the newbie. Stiles smiled , and Scott pushed past the bikers to greet his friend. "You came!" he exclaimed delightedly.

"Of course I came, I'm not gonna abandon my mate, am I?" Stiles replied, punching Scott lightly on the arm. Scott's puppy-face broke into a wide grin.

"Do you want anything?" He indicated to the bar area. Stiles shrugged.

"I'll have what you're having." Scott nodded and pointed to a corner.

"Allison and Lydia are over there."

"Lydia?" Stiles asked surprised. Scott raised his eyebrows, assuming it was answer enough.

Hordes of men ranging in age and beauty crowded into the surprisingly small diner, and Stiles had to push his way through to get to the corner. Stereotypically red and retro, the diner didn't actually look too bad from the inside. Sure, chips littered the floor and it reeked of vinegar and sweat (not a nice combo) but there wasn't any fighting or drugs; none that Stiles could see, anyway.

Loud chattering filled Stiles' ears, and he could barely hear himself think. He stumbled over legs and scattered chairs and tables. Eventually, he discovered Lydia and Allison in the corner as Scott had said. They had their heads close together, deep in conversation.

"Ladies," Stiles smiled. Lydia rolled her eyes but Allison had a small smile on her face, clearly amused.

"Where's Scott?" she asked.

Stiles pointed a thumb over his shoulder and said, "Getting drinks." He slid into the booth, brushing crumbs from the seat onto the floor. "So... you guys come up here often?" Lydia glanced to her left as a guy walked past; he winked at her and she tilted her head flirtatiously.

"Very often," she replied. Stiles felt the familiar hint of jealously in his stomach and he swallowed, leaning back on the seat. Just because Lydia took no notice of him didn't mean he couldn't take any notice of her...did it?

"Here." Scott planted two full glasses of some brown soft drink on the table. Stiles sniffed at it and recoiled in disgust.

"What _is _this?" Scott shrugged and Lydia answered for him.

"It's just some cheap rip-off. Don't use the straw," she advised, just as Scott was about to take a sip, "I know where they've been." Allison raised her eyebrows and gave her 'The Look' – the girly one that Stiles had never (and probably would never) understood. "What?" Lydia asked innocently, "My last boyfriend worked here." As she was speaking, she motioned her head to the boy at the counter, who was watching her lustfully. "Too clingy," she decided.

Pulling a face, Stiles put the drink back on the table; it tasted as revolting as it smelt. The group settled into a silence. Scott rubbed his tattoo absent-mindedly as a man covered in ink strolled past. Thinking about it, as Stiles looked around, most people here were inked. He felt out of place; most of them had beards, too, or at least fuzz.

With a loud bang, the door swung open again, and all eyes swivelled to the man striding in. His leather jacket had a layer of soot caking the shoulders, but it didn't affect the powerful aura he carried. Green eyes provided a dramatic contrast to his otherwise dark complexion.

"Who's _that?" _Stiles asked wondrously as the man leant against the bar. He seemed to order a drink without moving his lips.

Scott raised his eyebrows and Lydia sighed ludicrously. "Derek Hale," Scott said, a hint of jealousy in his voice. "They call him a rogue – he doesn't really have a group of people."

Startled by this mention of a 'group', Stiles exclaimed, "And who's your '_group_'?" Scott shrugged.

"Guy called Isaac. Couple of others. I don't see them very often." Stiles nodded expectantly. "And you, of course." Stiles winked and grinned widely.

"So what does this 'Derek Hale' do, then?" Scott pulled a face and took a sip of the drink.

"I don't actually know." Stiles rolled his eyes.

"That's dull. Why don't you go find out?"

Shaking his head, Scott laughed. "Stiles, no one talks to Derek. No one is part of his 'gang'. No offence, but I don't think you're gonna change that."

Stiles raised his eyebrows challengingly. "I could try."


	2. Chapter 2

**So, this isn't Saturday, but I hope it's alright anyway.**

**I'm writing a script at the same time by the way, and I think that scriptwriting may or may not have rubbed off a little on my work, so yeah sorry if it sounds stunted and like a script.**

**And yeah, I know it's short. This story is gonna have quite short chapters.**

**Also, if you have any idea of where this story is going, I'd love to know, cause I don't.**

**Merci!**

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On his way over to Derek, Stiles manages to trip no less than four – no, five – times. He scowled at the man who held his hands up and complained that it was his friend who just sat there laughing. "Jerks," Stiles muttered under his breath.

Making sure his path had no more obstacles, Stiles sauntered over to Derek and slid onto the bar stool next to him. "Coke for me, please," he said to the bartender. He glanced sideways at Derek, who was pointedly ignoring him.

"So," Stiles started, "you're Derek Hale, right? Man, I've heard a lot abou-"

"No, you haven't." His voice, low and gravely, startled Stiles, causing him to – for once – shut his mouth. "Your _friend _over there was just telling you about me." Was it Stiles' imagination, or was there a tone of jealousy in his words?

"Right." Knowing he was busted, Stiles just accepted the disgusting black liquid and took a sip, pulling a face. Derek raised an eyebrow.

Stiles expected him to say something else. When it became apparent he wasn't a conversationalist, Stiles carried on regardless. "Whaddya do around here, then?" Derek ignored him. "Hello?" Still ignored. "Come on, man," Stiles said, irritated.

Derek leaned over until his face was about an inch from Stiles'. His musky scent enveloped the younger boy and Stiles tried hard not to show his fear. He'd read somewhere that big, scary men with conversational problems and studded boots could smell it.

"Listen," Derek hissed. "I don't want to talk to you, and you don't want to talk to me."

"Oh, b-but I do!" Stiles interrupted, attempting a laugh. Derek glared at him. "I mean, no, no, I don't."

Nodding, Derek continued. "So, let's get this arrangement sorted. You stay outta my business, and I'll stay outta yours. Understand?" Stiles nodded. He half-smiled and reached for the back of his seat to get away from this guy, finding that there wasn't one there because he was on a _damn bar stool_.

Before he hit the ground, however, a strong hand gripped his upper arm. Derek pulled him back onto the worn, red leather and let go as quickly as he could. Stiles stared as Derek stood and angrily stormed out of the diner.

He could still feel the abnormal warmth seeping through his clothes.

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Scott raised his eyebrows as Stiles pushed him over in the booth. His eyes were still fixed on the road Derek Hale had vanished down, his bike roaring.

"So?" No reply. "Stiles." Scott nudged his friend. Stiles glanced over, finally breaking his gaze. He blinked heavily. "So? What did he say?"

Shrugging, Stiles replied, "Eh, not much." He was still stunned at the heat radiating from the man. Maybe he had hand warmers tucked in his jacket...

Stiles remembered his dark voice and dismal aura.

Or maybe not.

"Where'd he go, then?" Stiles asked.

"Dude, stop asking me questions," Scott said. "I don't know!"

"I do."

"Holy sh-" Stiles turned around to the man behind them who had spoken and broke off when he saw the tattoos and bushy beard; his steely eyes could barely be seen. "You do?" Stiles and Scott glanced at one another.

"Sure. He goes to that house, in the woods. Y'know, the burnt one?" The guy next to him turned around, raising his eyebrows.

"They say loads of people died in there. Burnt, in a fire," he said. Stiles liked to imagine that he sounded scared. It would make his fear seem more plausible. He wasn't particularly fond of houses in the woods where people died.

"Thanks, dude." Stiles turned back around and glanced at Scott, who shook his head.

"No. _No. _We are _so _not going there." Grinning, Stiles stood.

"Come on!" He motioned to Scott and raced out of the diner. Rolling his eyes, Scott grabbed Stiles' crash helmet, along with his own, and followed him.

Whoever said Scott was the leader of the group, Stiles would never know.


	3. Chapter 3

**So, it's, uh, been quite a while since the last update, I know. Hey, at least I'm updating! I'm sorry that this one has been so short, so to make up for it, there'll be another on Saturday, the usual uploading date. And then I really will carry it on (well, try to) every week.**

**Enjoy, any feedback would be appreciated!**

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"Well, where else could it be?" Stiles argued. "Houses don't just _disappear, _Scott."

"Yeah, well, maybe this one does," Scott replied, taking off his helmet and pushing a hand through his tousled hair. "Come on, man, I want to go home."

"You know what I want, Scott? I want straight-A's and Lydia Martin to like me, but that ain't gonna happen!" Stiles motioned for his friend and swung his leg back over the leather. "Come _on._"

Sighing, Scott revved the bike and followed his friend. When Stiles got something into his head, it was pretty much impossible to get it out.

They'd been trailing the woods for about half an hour, and Scott was fed up. Stiles, however, was still feeling enthusiastic.

"Stiles," Scott complained, "my bike isn't made for mountaineering."

"Oh, please," Stiles replied, "we're not exactly climbing Everest."

"It would be easier than trying to find this stupid house."

"Go home, then, if you don't want to find out."

"Maybe I will!"

"All right!" They friends glared at each other. Stiles smiled. Scott sighed again. "Come on," Stiles said, "it can't be far _now_. We've practically covered every inch of it."

Their wheels kicked up leaves behind them, leaving a trail similar to that of confetti. Deer scattered ahead, the bikes' deafening growl terrifying them. Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles was certain he saw a mountain lion. But when he looked properly, nothing was there.

Stiles pulled up next to a river. His dad was in the forces, and he knew that this would be a boundary to the woods. In fact, he could see a house on the other side of the river, two children frozen, watching them with their mouths agape. Stiles waved friendlily, and the youngest, a small boy with floppy brown hair, ran back into the house.

"That was rude," he muttered under his breath, rolling back his shoulders and turning off the bike's ignition.

Scott caught up with him and his bike fell silent. "Well?" Stiles didn't even have to turn around to see that his friend would be staring at him grumpily. Prepared to make bargains, Stiles leant back.

"Chinese tonight, plus your biology homework for a week."

"Two weeks." Stiles frowned.

"One and a half."

"Indian tomorrow, too."

"Done." Stiles reached behind himself and shook Scott's outstretched hand.

Just then, Scott's phone rang in his pocket. He pulled it out and wrinkled his nose at the ID. "Hi, mom," he said, rolling his eyes as he held the phone to his ear. "No, Stiles and I are just...doing homework."

He folded his arms, listening to Melissa talking on the other end. Stiles had always liked Scott's mom, she had always made him feel at home. Besides, her baseball bat was frickin' awesome.

"I do do homework! Grades aren't reflected _just _on homework, mom." Scott rested his arms on the handlebars. "I tell you what," he said, grinning at Stiles, a gleam in his eye (_Uh oh, _Stiles thought, _I am _not _going to like this._), "Stiles and I will bring home Chinese tonight for all of us."

Stiles' mouth dropped open and Scott hung up, smiling. "_What?!"_ Stiles wrung his hands. "Dude, I'm not made of money."

Scott rolled his eyes. "Relax, man. I'll buy the prawn crackers." Stiles glared at his friend, but then he noticed a moving shadow behind his head.

"Hey," he said, "what's that?" Scott glanced over his shoulder, then turned back to Stiles who was fumbling with the key and only just remembering to jam the helmet on his sweaty head.

"I don't see any- Whoa, Stiles, wait up!" Black smoke billowed out from the back of Stiles' bike.

"I, uh, I'm pretty sure it's not meant to do that," Stiles said, frowning. Then, he shrugged. "Let's go!"

"Dude, I-" Scott rolled his eyes. Stiles had already gone, skidding and nearly crashing into a tree. "Oh, fine." He put the helmet onto his head and revved the engine, following Stiles in a much more dignified fashion.


	4. Chapter 4

**Haha, well, this isn't Saturday but yay, chapter 4! Enjoy! :) (also - the next update won't be on Saturday, because I'm travelling all day, so it'll probably be Sunday. Eh, enjoy anyway! :) )**

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"There," Stiles hissed, "look, it's there, can you see it?"

"Yes, Stiles," Scott huffed. "I saw it the last three times you pointed it out, too." He swerved around another tree. "Are you going to go up to it, or not?"

Stiles, finally, stopped the bike. "I don't know, it looks kinda..."

"Abandoned?" Scott half-asked. In truth, the house looked like someone had built it and forgotten about it before it had even been lived in.

"Yeah, abandoned." They exchanged a glance, then Stiles' eyes settled back on the bike – Derek's bike – which was sitting in front of the porch. "What creep would willingly hang out in a place like this?"

"Derek Hale," Scott replied instantly.

"You called?" A voice behind them made both boys yelp with fright. Stiles whipped around, and promptly fell off the bike. Without even looking, Scott reached over and grabbed a handlebar, so that the bike didn't fall on top of Stiles. "What are you doing?" Derek Hale asked, his hands in his jacket pockets.

"Us? Oh, we were, uh, we were just..." Stiles started, stumbling over the words.

"Going for a ride," Scott said, nodding. "You know. On our bikes."

"I can see that," Derek said, clearly unamused. He raised his eyebrows. "But you're trespassing here." He motioned with his head. "Get off my land."

Stiles stood, saluting with the wrong hand. "Yessir, we'll just, we'll just go now, then." He clambered onto the bike, nearly going straight over the seat to the other side, and kick-started it, his hands unable to hold the keys, his jacket, and the helmet whilst trying to hold onto the handlebars, too.

Sourly, Derek stomped over and held onto the front of the bike, whilst Stiles sorted himself out. Stiles froze for a moment, but Derek raised his eyebrows and he buckled up the helmet. "Thanks, man," Stiles said.

"Don't call me that."

"Sure, dude."

"Or that."

"Okay..." Stiles thought for another word. "Derek."

"Look, just don't talk to me."

"Okay, okay, we're going." Stiles swung the bike around and sped off, Scott drawing up next to him.

Derek watched them for a moment before shaking his head and turning away.


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry for the random, inconsistent updates. The reason? I have no idea whatsoever where this story is going. So if you know, it'd be really helpful if you could tell me. Taa. **

**PS: Hope you enjoy the chapter. **

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Stiles was halfway home when he realised. He indicated and pulled over to the side of the road. Scott squealed in next to him. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"I've lost my pen," Stiles wailed, frantically searching his pockets.

"Your pen?"

"Yeah, you know, my lucky pen." Stiles checked in the wires of his bike, working with Murphy's law*.

"You have a lucky pen?"

"Yes, Scott," Stiles said grumpily, glaring at him, "I have a lucky pen. And I've lost it! We have our exams soon, too...damn, where did I last have it?" He sat back on the motorbike's seat, mapping out potential whereabouts of the pen in his mind. "I had it at home, then I put it in my pocket. I had it when I left the diner..."

His face turned pale and his eyes widened. "Oh, God. I think it might be at Derek Hale's house."

Scott raised his arms and laughed. "I am _not _going back there. You're on your own, man!" He laughed again. "Tell you what, I'll meet you at the Chinese."

"Come with me, please. That guy freaks me out."

"I'll pay half." Stiles sighed.

"Fine. At least you'll know where to look for my body once I've been murdered."

Rolling his eyes, Scott turned on his bike. "You won't be _murdered_. He's not a killer. Just...go and find it. And if you see him, you have a bike, remember."

"So does he."

"You'll be _on _your bike."

"He could be on his!"

Exasperated, Scott threw up his hands and shoved Stiles' shoulder. "Then don't go and get it!"

"But I _need _my lucky pen!"

"He'll probably have gone home, anyway."

"Fine." Grumpily, Stiles put the helmet on his head, realised it was back to front, and changed it before it got stuck. "Can you get me duck? And crackers. Don't forget the crackers." Scott nodded, and turned back onto the road. Stiles did the same – but in the opposite direction.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are..." Stiles muttered to himself as he drove through the woods. They were _helluva lot _creepier at night. He shivered, wishing he had a jacket.

His headlights illuminated something glistening in the dirt, and Stiles pulled over quickly, rushing to the object. However, it turned out to be a discarded lighter; empty and smelly. He dropped it quickly and got back onto the bike.

Ahead, Derek Hale's creepy hangout was just a silhouette. Stiles prayed he wouldn't find the bike outside, and as he rode past it, he let out a breath. The bike was gone. Hopefully, Derek with it.

Stiles stopped and turned off the ignition. He stared at the house. Curiosity bit into him, and he swayed in deliberation for a moment, before decided to hell with it. The bike slowly pulled up beside the smashed windows and broken, fading door.

And there, on the wooden post, was his pen.

It seemed far too good to be true. Stiles swung off the bike, kicking out the stand and leaving it. He still wore his helmet, and left the keys in the ignition. Just in case, you know, he had to make a quick getaway from a scary person who would otherwise remain nameless.

Tiptoeing up to the post, he continued to stare around himself, convinced something bad was about to happen. Then he snatched the silver fountain pen from the wood and scurried back to the bike, jumping on it and not even pulling up the stand before he was off.

When he couldn't see the house any more, he finally stopped and let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. Hat straightened and the pen safely in his pocket, Stiles continued on to the Chinese.

He wondered who had put the pen there. Maybe – no – it couldn't be – would _Derek _have done it? If he had, he must have known how much the pen meant to Stiles. Otherwise, knowing _him, _he would have stomped it into the ground, then marked the ink on a tree like some crazy ritual.

Maybe Stiles had actually taken a mid-ride nap, and he'd found it on the floor after all.

Yeah. That must be it.

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*Look for something in the last place you expect to find it.


End file.
